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Bedtime.
Say that word to my 7 and 4 year old and to them I might as well have bought them a soundtrack featuring eight babies crying, three old men snoring, and several pesky mosquitoes buzzing around in the night.
Was that ridiculous analogy necessary? My apologies. I'm feeling off tonight.
They turn their noses up at me in annoyance like this whole crazy bedtime thing is something new.
"Can I just go outside for 4 minutes and ride my bike first?"
Congrats on rounding the time down to try and psyche me out...but no. Also, where have you been the last 7 years? Do you ever take a bath, get your pajamas on, brush your teeth, and then go on a little bike cruise? Ever?
"Can we have a snack?"
Since you decided that your green beans made better nose plugs than food...I'm going to have to decline that request too. I know. I'm mean. I'm working on it...but it's still time for bed.
Defeated...the children reluctantly go to bed. They go to bed. Not to sleep. We are just switching locations at this point.
Stories read. Kisses given. Blankets tucked in. Dolls and stuffed animals given equal amounts of motherly affection at my children's request.
Yeah...sounds weird, but at some point giving a stuffed dog, American girl doll, blue moose, and a fluffy chicken kisses became part of the night routine.
Lights out.
Take a breath and walk slowly out to the hall...
"Mom?"
Sigh.
"Can I have more water?"
Given your track record of wetting the bed I think that we've hydrated you enough for the night.
Tip toe tip toe tip toe....
"MOM!?"
Grr.
"What's for breakfast?"
Freaking Captain Crunch. Did I turn into a gourmet cook all of a sudden with crazy fun new recipes for breakfast?? No. Go to sleep.
Slowly walk to couch. Silence. Sit down. Bliss. Turn on TV...
"MOM!!!!!???????"
@#*&!!!!!!
WHAT!
"I love you."
Damn it. Kryptonite.
Tuesday, May 29, 2012
Sunday, May 27, 2012
Wildflower
With Memorial Day coming up I have been thinking a lot about my best friend. My mother. While we honor our fallen veterans, I also wanted to take the time to honor my mother. A fallen veteran of cancer. A battle she fought for so long.
I realize this is straying away from my typical dry humored rambling posts, but I wanted to share something I wrote just a few days after she passed away three years ago. Emotions were very raw at this time. They still are at times. Time does heal these wounds a bit, but it never erases the stinging pain. Holidays, birthdays, smells, random memories. All reminders of what I don't have anymore.
So often we live in the moment. Thinking there is always tomorrow. Thinking we are invincible. We can only imagine being faced with the very last second.
10 years ago my brother and I came home from school. Me with my teenage angst; shown to the world by heavy dark eyeliner and strange clothing apparently. The world was my enemy for whatever reason. I still am not sure. My little brother; too young to worry about hating the world, but at just the right age to find humor in any sort of bathroom talk or noises.
We came home from school to find my mom and dad in the living room. Mom had been crying we could tell, but she did not shed her tears in front of us. We knew this was big. I didn't hear anything after the word "Cancer" began to echo over and over in my head.
The next few years were hard for my mom. Thinking she had beat this demon and then having it come back with a vengeance is heartbreaking. I remember sitting with my mom in the chemo room where she recieved treatments. My mom by far the youngest patient there.
She never complained. Ever. Not to us. Her life was scheduled around "good weeks" and "bad weeks". Doctor appointments, hospital visits that would last for months, medication lists a mile long and always the poking and prodding. But she never complained.
In her final months my mom and I talked about death. She said she was scared but had accepted it. She said she had lived a good life as a grandma, a mother, a wife, a daughter, a sister, and a friend to so many. We are so lucky to have had her in our lives. Words can not express how much love I have for my mom and how much she has taught me.
At her funeral, I stood next to my brother (who now towers over me) at the entrance of the church and I was reminded of that very first encounter where my brother and I sat numb with the realization that our mother had Cancer. Not someone elses mom. Not someone on TV. Our precious mom. There we were again 10 years later. Standing side by side. No longer children anymore, but feeling more lost and childlike than I can remember in a long time.
My mom is an inspiration to so many. I think about her every day. I miss her terribly. Yet she has taught me through all of this to never take life for granted. Even though she was sick she didn't just sit at home and wallow in depression. She pushed on through all the pain and hard days and lived her life the best that she knew how and was able to. She never complained or felt she was "owed" something. Cancer was never mom's crutch. She truly appreciated all that she was able to do in her life.
We are not invincible. And that is OK. Each day that I am blessed with being able to wake up and hug my kids and husband is a good day. Life is what you make of it. So many people are alive...breathing and blinking but dead inside. Dead from hatred and depression. Dead from greed and narcissism. My mom was looking at death straight in the eyes face to face for 10 years. She chose to live the rest of her life ALIVE. Full of love, optimisim, hope and always there for us.
She told me she had a good life.
Reading this again brings up so many emotions. Painful emotions but also inspiring emotions. Reminders of what in life I should never take for granted. My babies. My husband. My family. Myself.
I realize this is straying away from my typical dry humored rambling posts, but I wanted to share something I wrote just a few days after she passed away three years ago. Emotions were very raw at this time. They still are at times. Time does heal these wounds a bit, but it never erases the stinging pain. Holidays, birthdays, smells, random memories. All reminders of what I don't have anymore.
So often we live in the moment. Thinking there is always tomorrow. Thinking we are invincible. We can only imagine being faced with the very last second.
10 years ago my brother and I came home from school. Me with my teenage angst; shown to the world by heavy dark eyeliner and strange clothing apparently. The world was my enemy for whatever reason. I still am not sure. My little brother; too young to worry about hating the world, but at just the right age to find humor in any sort of bathroom talk or noises.
We came home from school to find my mom and dad in the living room. Mom had been crying we could tell, but she did not shed her tears in front of us. We knew this was big. I didn't hear anything after the word "Cancer" began to echo over and over in my head.
The next few years were hard for my mom. Thinking she had beat this demon and then having it come back with a vengeance is heartbreaking. I remember sitting with my mom in the chemo room where she recieved treatments. My mom by far the youngest patient there.
She never complained. Ever. Not to us. Her life was scheduled around "good weeks" and "bad weeks". Doctor appointments, hospital visits that would last for months, medication lists a mile long and always the poking and prodding. But she never complained.
In her final months my mom and I talked about death. She said she was scared but had accepted it. She said she had lived a good life as a grandma, a mother, a wife, a daughter, a sister, and a friend to so many. We are so lucky to have had her in our lives. Words can not express how much love I have for my mom and how much she has taught me.
At her funeral, I stood next to my brother (who now towers over me) at the entrance of the church and I was reminded of that very first encounter where my brother and I sat numb with the realization that our mother had Cancer. Not someone elses mom. Not someone on TV. Our precious mom. There we were again 10 years later. Standing side by side. No longer children anymore, but feeling more lost and childlike than I can remember in a long time.
My mom is an inspiration to so many. I think about her every day. I miss her terribly. Yet she has taught me through all of this to never take life for granted. Even though she was sick she didn't just sit at home and wallow in depression. She pushed on through all the pain and hard days and lived her life the best that she knew how and was able to. She never complained or felt she was "owed" something. Cancer was never mom's crutch. She truly appreciated all that she was able to do in her life.
We are not invincible. And that is OK. Each day that I am blessed with being able to wake up and hug my kids and husband is a good day. Life is what you make of it. So many people are alive...breathing and blinking but dead inside. Dead from hatred and depression. Dead from greed and narcissism. My mom was looking at death straight in the eyes face to face for 10 years. She chose to live the rest of her life ALIVE. Full of love, optimisim, hope and always there for us.
She told me she had a good life.
Reading this again brings up so many emotions. Painful emotions but also inspiring emotions. Reminders of what in life I should never take for granted. My babies. My husband. My family. Myself.
My family will be going to visit my mom's grave tomorrow. We will set fresh flowers next to the two angels that were placed next to her the day we tearfully brushed dirt off our fingers. The smell of fresh earth symbolizing our final goodbyes.
"There are things that we don't want to happen but have to accept, things we don't want to know but have to learn, and people we can't live without but have to let go."
A Woman's Revenge
I am getting old. Turning 28 may not seem old to some, but my body just can't do what it used to do. In fact, after a weekend of staying up past 1am this body is giving me a big fat middle finger right now. Several "somethings"cracked when I got out of bed this morning. My skeleton is complaining.
I begged the hubs to go out with me since we had a sitter, we never go out together, and a really good band was in town. He balked at the idea at first and then our friends said they would go. Then it wasn't such a stupid idea.
I decide to get an energy drink because I am ready for bed at 8pm. I am literally giving my body a pep talk. You can do this. You have plans. Fun plans. Get your head in the game.
Energy drink gives me a fake cracked out second wind and off we go into the night. Our friend is driving. I am not risking getting pulled over for some idiotic thing again. Because THAT would be MY luck.
I have to use the restroom when we get to the bar because bladders hate energy drinks. When I come out, husband and friend are nowhere to be found. They do not have that girl code embedded in them that instinctively knows to wait for you so you don't get separated from each other.
Now I get to walk around like an idiot looking for them. I could have been stabbed you jerks.
I finally find them and hubs is well into his first pitcher of beer. I mentally note that him drinking is better than him complaining until we leave.
That is until a bit more of overindulging occurs. Whiskey is ordered next. Then I think...crap. This will not end well.
His "funny" for the evening is derogatorily calling me "Woman" instead of my name.
I let it go the first few instances. I am just happy he is not whining about what a stupid idea it was to go out.
Then he decides to introduce me to someone.
"Woman this is Shannon. Shannon this is Woman."
Seriously? I let Shannon know what my actual name is and shoot dagger eyes towards my obliterated hubs.
They go unnoticed.
I remind myself that this is my fault because I was the one that suggested (forced) him to go out.
Frustrated, I go dance by myself for the remainder of the night. Apparently, my anxiety about dancing by myself is weaker than my anger.
I hear in the distance, "Woman! It's time to go." I grit my teeth and we head back home.
I am secretly happy that hubs is puking when we get home. That's horrible isn't it? Chill out. I did get him a glass of water and walk him to bed. I'm not heartless. He did manage to say, "Thanks Woman."
Remember that energy drink I had at 8pm? Yeah. Terrible idea. I was awake and pissed for at least 2 more hours tossing and turning.
Today...I am crabby. An old crabby person that will be going to bed very early tonight. The hubs and I did share a laugh today about his behavior last night. So no worries...I shredded the divorce papers.
I told him his punishment was that I was going to blog about him being an ass.
I hope you enjoyed reading my revenge.
I begged the hubs to go out with me since we had a sitter, we never go out together, and a really good band was in town. He balked at the idea at first and then our friends said they would go. Then it wasn't such a stupid idea.
I decide to get an energy drink because I am ready for bed at 8pm. I am literally giving my body a pep talk. You can do this. You have plans. Fun plans. Get your head in the game.
Energy drink gives me a fake cracked out second wind and off we go into the night. Our friend is driving. I am not risking getting pulled over for some idiotic thing again. Because THAT would be MY luck.
I have to use the restroom when we get to the bar because bladders hate energy drinks. When I come out, husband and friend are nowhere to be found. They do not have that girl code embedded in them that instinctively knows to wait for you so you don't get separated from each other.
Now I get to walk around like an idiot looking for them. I could have been stabbed you jerks.
I finally find them and hubs is well into his first pitcher of beer. I mentally note that him drinking is better than him complaining until we leave.
That is until a bit more of overindulging occurs. Whiskey is ordered next. Then I think...crap. This will not end well.
His "funny" for the evening is derogatorily calling me "Woman" instead of my name.
I let it go the first few instances. I am just happy he is not whining about what a stupid idea it was to go out.
Then he decides to introduce me to someone.
"Woman this is Shannon. Shannon this is Woman."
Seriously? I let Shannon know what my actual name is and shoot dagger eyes towards my obliterated hubs.
They go unnoticed.
I remind myself that this is my fault because I was the one that suggested (forced) him to go out.
Frustrated, I go dance by myself for the remainder of the night. Apparently, my anxiety about dancing by myself is weaker than my anger.
I hear in the distance, "Woman! It's time to go." I grit my teeth and we head back home.
I am secretly happy that hubs is puking when we get home. That's horrible isn't it? Chill out. I did get him a glass of water and walk him to bed. I'm not heartless. He did manage to say, "Thanks Woman."
Remember that energy drink I had at 8pm? Yeah. Terrible idea. I was awake and pissed for at least 2 more hours tossing and turning.
Today...I am crabby. An old crabby person that will be going to bed very early tonight. The hubs and I did share a laugh today about his behavior last night. So no worries...I shredded the divorce papers.
I told him his punishment was that I was going to blog about him being an ass.
I hope you enjoyed reading my revenge.
Saturday, May 26, 2012
Whatcha Gonna Do When They Come For You?
I got pulled over last night. 2 am after a Captain May I show. I have been waiting for this to happen.
When I pictured it happening previous nights I imagined myself being extremely confident knowing that I had not broken any laws. Making up for my years of rebellious youth when getting pulled over meant one of your friends was going to jail. I guess a cockiness came out in me. In my head.
This was not the case though. The minute those red lights started flashing I pulled over and took a look in the rear view mirror. First of all I had been dancing for 3 hours straight so smeared eyeliner and sweaty disheveled hair never bodes well for pleading your case of sobriety. It was 2 am so I might as well have been drunk. Thoughts were not very coherent in my sleep deprived mind.
I reached in the back for my purse to get my wallet...half expecting the officer to see me shuffling and get on a megaphone and shout for me to "Get my hands up!" They don't really use mega phones...do they?
That did not happen. That would have sucked. My sister and I nearly had a panic attack getting frisked at the airport. A cliche aggressive cop statement would have definitely got the waterworks flowing.
My hands are shaking. I am trying to decipher WHY I am so nervous. No reason. Where did my cocky alter ego go? It abandoned me and now here I sit shaking and clammy like I am about to get caught with heroin or prostitutes. (?)
I hand my license over to the cop who does his strut up to my window. Think about nervously cracking a joke about ordering fries and a shake...but wisely decide against it.
He tells me he pulled me over because my headlights were not on.
Anxiety turns into embarrassment. I'm a dumbass.
It all comes flooding back. I was dropping my sister off and we had to have one of our ADD conversations that takes 20 minutes to talk about a 30 second topic. I shut my lights off in a streetlight lit parking lot because I realized I was stupidly shining my lights into some poor old person's house while they were trying to sleep.
And I then I just...drove away. And got pulled over. And got a warning. Written warning.
Is this warning going to affect future job endeavors?
Like we don't hire felons.
Felons or Dumbasses.
When I pictured it happening previous nights I imagined myself being extremely confident knowing that I had not broken any laws. Making up for my years of rebellious youth when getting pulled over meant one of your friends was going to jail. I guess a cockiness came out in me. In my head.
This was not the case though. The minute those red lights started flashing I pulled over and took a look in the rear view mirror. First of all I had been dancing for 3 hours straight so smeared eyeliner and sweaty disheveled hair never bodes well for pleading your case of sobriety. It was 2 am so I might as well have been drunk. Thoughts were not very coherent in my sleep deprived mind.
I reached in the back for my purse to get my wallet...half expecting the officer to see me shuffling and get on a megaphone and shout for me to "Get my hands up!" They don't really use mega phones...do they?
That did not happen. That would have sucked. My sister and I nearly had a panic attack getting frisked at the airport. A cliche aggressive cop statement would have definitely got the waterworks flowing.
My hands are shaking. I am trying to decipher WHY I am so nervous. No reason. Where did my cocky alter ego go? It abandoned me and now here I sit shaking and clammy like I am about to get caught with heroin or prostitutes. (?)
I hand my license over to the cop who does his strut up to my window. Think about nervously cracking a joke about ordering fries and a shake...but wisely decide against it.
He tells me he pulled me over because my headlights were not on.
Anxiety turns into embarrassment. I'm a dumbass.
It all comes flooding back. I was dropping my sister off and we had to have one of our ADD conversations that takes 20 minutes to talk about a 30 second topic. I shut my lights off in a streetlight lit parking lot because I realized I was stupidly shining my lights into some poor old person's house while they were trying to sleep.
And I then I just...drove away. And got pulled over. And got a warning. Written warning.
Is this warning going to affect future job endeavors?
Like we don't hire felons.
Felons or Dumbasses.
Tuesday, May 1, 2012
French Fry Crime Scene
We went out to eat for my sister's birthday yesterday.
Applebees.
I may need to write a letter of apology to all of the patrons who unfortunately decided to dine out yesterday between the hours of 6pm and 8pm.
I don't know who my children were last night. You know those people's kids that elderly folk just shake their heads at...yeah. Bingo. Those were my kids. And I just kind of gave up after a certain point.
I should have planned to wait at the door and apologize in advance if you were sitting anywhere within earshot/creepy booth peering/acting like an idiot range of our booth.
Partially my fault. My kids usually eat at 5 pm. On the fricken dot. If it is 5:02 pm and food is not on the table...let the whining commence.
So they were hungry.
Also, Daughter (who I will from now on refer to as Sassy Girl...because it unfortunately fits her all knowing 1st grader personality), decided to pick a fight with me on the way to the restaurant.
I know that sounds horrible...but I SWEAR she does pick fights. She was all in a tizzy because I forgot to pack her sunglasses in her backpack for a skit she was doing.
Don't get me wrong, I felt bad that I forgot...but I was taking this opportunity to try and teach Sassy Girl that she was also responsible for remembering things that she needed for school.
This did not go over well. I got the silent treatment. Well, first I got the comment that I am mean and everyone else's mommy is nice. Then I got the silent treatment. Sometimes my 7 yr old is a "B". I love her to death. But... just sayin'.
Finally we get to the restaurant and wait FOREVER to get our order taken. Well, maybe it seems like forever because already Little Dude has tried to kiss the lady in the booth next to us, Sassy Girl is singing "Freak the Freak Out" at the top of her lungs...and no one is listening to mom. Pleading. Threatening. Embarrassed.
Besides my sister's birthday there are like 9 other birthdays being celebrated. We contemplated whether or not this is actual fact or these sleeze balls were just trying to get a free sundae.
I'd totally lie for ice cream.
Every time the birthday chant would start the kids would get up and dance and get all revved up all over again. Just fricken sit down and play tic toe with grandma for the 90th time already!
I wonder how awful it would be to have to chant that stupid birthday song over and over again. The repetitive clapping may lead to a workman's comp claim eventually.
We got our food. Ate. Sort of. More threatening took place as children again tried to crawl under the table and run a muck about the restaurant. Also, the children decided burping loudly and giggling was acceptable in a restaurant. I want to DIE.
We get the check and peace the *f* out of this place. Leaving behind a crime scene of ketchup and chewed up french fries scattered about the booth and floor.
The car ride home all I can think about is an ice cold beer. Or ten. Maybe twenty.
I'm surprised I woke up at all this morning actually.
Applebees.
I may need to write a letter of apology to all of the patrons who unfortunately decided to dine out yesterday between the hours of 6pm and 8pm.
I don't know who my children were last night. You know those people's kids that elderly folk just shake their heads at...yeah. Bingo. Those were my kids. And I just kind of gave up after a certain point.
I should have planned to wait at the door and apologize in advance if you were sitting anywhere within earshot/creepy booth peering/acting like an idiot range of our booth.
Partially my fault. My kids usually eat at 5 pm. On the fricken dot. If it is 5:02 pm and food is not on the table...let the whining commence.
So they were hungry.
Also, Daughter (who I will from now on refer to as Sassy Girl...because it unfortunately fits her all knowing 1st grader personality), decided to pick a fight with me on the way to the restaurant.
I know that sounds horrible...but I SWEAR she does pick fights. She was all in a tizzy because I forgot to pack her sunglasses in her backpack for a skit she was doing.
Don't get me wrong, I felt bad that I forgot...but I was taking this opportunity to try and teach Sassy Girl that she was also responsible for remembering things that she needed for school.
This did not go over well. I got the silent treatment. Well, first I got the comment that I am mean and everyone else's mommy is nice. Then I got the silent treatment. Sometimes my 7 yr old is a "B". I love her to death. But... just sayin'.
Finally we get to the restaurant and wait FOREVER to get our order taken. Well, maybe it seems like forever because already Little Dude has tried to kiss the lady in the booth next to us, Sassy Girl is singing "Freak the Freak Out" at the top of her lungs...and no one is listening to mom. Pleading. Threatening. Embarrassed.
Besides my sister's birthday there are like 9 other birthdays being celebrated. We contemplated whether or not this is actual fact or these sleeze balls were just trying to get a free sundae.
I'd totally lie for ice cream.
Every time the birthday chant would start the kids would get up and dance and get all revved up all over again. Just fricken sit down and play tic toe with grandma for the 90th time already!
I wonder how awful it would be to have to chant that stupid birthday song over and over again. The repetitive clapping may lead to a workman's comp claim eventually.
We got our food. Ate. Sort of. More threatening took place as children again tried to crawl under the table and run a muck about the restaurant. Also, the children decided burping loudly and giggling was acceptable in a restaurant. I want to DIE.
We get the check and peace the *f* out of this place. Leaving behind a crime scene of ketchup and chewed up french fries scattered about the booth and floor.
The car ride home all I can think about is an ice cold beer. Or ten. Maybe twenty.
I'm surprised I woke up at all this morning actually.
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